


Synchronicity

by Siria



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, POV Character of Color, POV Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-25
Updated: 2009-11-25
Packaged: 2017-10-03 21:03:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We may have a problem," Nyota says when they finally break their kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Synchronicity

**Author's Note:**

> For Ashfae, who requested 'Uhura/Spock, first date.'

"We may have a problem," Nyota says when they finally break their kiss. His skin is almost too hot to the touch, but her fingertips learn him piecemeal, unable to pull away entirely: the curve of his ear, the nape of his neck, the line of his jaw. Spock's hands rest carefully on the curves of her hips.

"Please elaborate." His gaze is fixed on her mouth, and Nyota shivers—thinks of his mouth, his hands, of precision and focus and low-banked want. She doesn't understand why so many others dismiss the very possibility of this, not when there are so many words in Vulcan that mean _desire_ and _anticipate_.

"We're in a bookstore," Nyota points out. The neatly clipped line of his hair is sharp against her fingers; she rubs it against the grain. "Maybe this isn't the ideal venue for a first date."

He quirks an eyebrow at her, a gesture she translates to a full-blown grin in any human. "I confess," Spock says, "that the intricacies of human courtship customs are still somewhat opaque to me," and Nyota speaks his language well enough to know when he's happy; to know when he feels he can trust her to get the joke.

They are surrounded by words without measure—stacks of weathered, antique paper books; scrolls of Andorian poetry; padds filled with volumes of Vulcan history—and Nyota knows there is a symmetry to be found here. The language of her dreams is not Vulcan; the language of his is not KiSwahili, but Nyota knows that he is joking, and she knows that he brought her here because he is a little nervous. Because she matters to him. They found one another through words—where better to ask new questions of one another than here?

And so Nyota places the tips of her fingers underneath his chin, tips his face so that his mouth can meet hers more sweetly—and just before their lips touch, she whispers in Vulcan: _I understand the truth in thy words_ and closes her eyes. All is well.


End file.
